


The Twelve Days of Christmas

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Party, Presents, Secret Santa, Secrets, Sweet, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Christmas comes to Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock rolled over on the sofa and almost fell off. He lay there for a moment trying to remember what was happening. Oh yes, that's right: he'd been bored and then tried to get some attention from John who had told him he was too busy at work to text and then Sherlock had flopped onto the sofa to pout properly. And clearly he'd fallen asleep. He checked the time and saw that it wouldn't be long until John got home. That was good at least.

He stood up and turned on the kettle and then decided to go down and get the post. It was mostly junk but there was a padded envelope with his name on it, which clearly hadn't been sent but just dropped through. He looked around the hallway suspiciously and took everything back upstairs. He poured a cup of tea, taking it and the envelope to his desk. 

He cut open the end and out fell a tin of French sweets. There was no note or explanation. He looked over the tin. It was still sealed, the use-by date was a year from now. He looked at the envelope again, studying his name. He didn't recognise the handwriting and couldn't really tell if someone was deliberately trying to disguise their style. He opened the sweets and shook the tin a bit, trying to look at all of them. They looked fine and smelled lovely, so he put one in his mouth. Delicious. When he was a child, his family had gone to France and he'd bought some of these at the airport. They were so good that his mother let him walk to the village shop each day of the holiday to buy himself another tin.

Maybe they were from his mother? Why? It wasn't his birthday, and anyway she rarely did nice things anonymously -- all her kindness was a set up for possible future guilt trips, so it didn't seem likely she'd do something like this. He picked up his phone and rang her.

"Were you at my flat today? Did you leave something at the door without coming up?" he asked when she answered.

"Yes, obviously," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Because I love travelling all the way into London, pushing through crowds of idiots, just to look at the door of my son's flat," she said sarcastically. "I do it at least once a week. Wow, it never crossed my mind to actually come upstairs and see you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Forget I called. I don't know why I bothered," he said.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Someone left a package for me and I was just wondering if it was you."

"Is it a nice package or a threatening one?" she asked. 

"Nice, I guess," he said. "It's a tin of those sweets from France, remember?"

"The soap-flavoured one?"  
  
"They're not soap-flavoured," he said. "They're violet-flavoured."  
  
"Whatever -- they smelled like soap. No, son, I'm afraid it wasn't me. Who do you think it was?"  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Obviously I do not know, which is why I rang you."  
  
"All right Mister Smarty Pants, don't be a brat to me," she said. "Maybe they're from John."  
  
"Unlikely," he said. "We live together. Why wouldn't he just hand them to me?"

"Well, maybe he wanted it to be special."  
  
"Why?"

"For Christmas, you idiot!" she said.

He had forgotten about Christmas. Yes, she was right -- it was in fact December, he definitely knew that was true, and December, he couldn't deny, was dominated by Christmas. Not at 221B Baker Street, of course, but elsewhere. "It's the 14th -- isn't Christmas . . . later in the month?" 

"It's the 25th, Sherlock, and don't pretend you don't know that," she said. "Fine. I offered a suggestion and you have refused it. I changed my mind, it was me, and now you obliged to do something nice for me."  
  
He ignored her comment. "No one knows about the sweets, I don't think. It's just . . . unusual." 

"Do you have a case to work on?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, that makes sense -- you're bored," she said. "You're turning a thoughtful little Christmas present into an investigation. Eat the sweets, go get yourself a case, and stop pestering me."

"Fine," he said dramatically.

"Love you," she said.

"Love you too," he said and hung up the phone. He put another sweet in his mouth and stood up to pour two cups of tea. John would be home any minute.

John went out to the lobby to call in his last patient but found they were gone.  
  
"They didn't want to wait, but someone left that for you," the receptionist said.  
  
John took the package and examined it. "Who left this?" he asked. The girl was already packing up and she paused to shrug. John took it into his office and shut the door, putting it on his desk. What were the chances that it was something dangerous? He peeled back the flap and peeked inside. Oh. He reached in and pulled out a new wallet. It was simple brown leather, nicer than his now. Well, of course it was, he had only just been complaining about his own wallet the other day -- the edges were fraying a bit and the money was visible at one of the corners. Was  
this Sherlock's doing? He put the wallet back into the envelope and got ready to leave.  
  
He thought about texting Sherlock in the taxi but decided to ask in person, hoping to be able to tell if he was lying -- a long shot, but worth a try. When the cab pulled up, he paid quickly and hurried inside.

"Tea's ready," Sherlock called when he heard John come in. He'd decided that the day was unsalvageable so he'd gone into his room to change back into his pajamas. He came out and picked up his cup taking it over to the sofa. "Have a good day doing incredibly important things?" he asked.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it was a good day. I assume you enjoyed doing nothing important -- nothing at all, it seems," he teased, noticing Sherlock hadn't even bothered to get dressed. Though maybe that's precisely what Sherlock wanted him to think.

"I did indeed," Sherlock said. He reached for his sweets and put one in his mouth. "Are you planning on doing important things all evening or might you be willing to do nothing with someone lazy like me?"

The way Sherlock worded it made John pause. "Do we have a case? What are we doing?" he asked.

"No, we don't have a case -- do you think I'm be in my pajamas if we had a case?" Sherlock said grumpily. "It's just . . . you've been ignoring me all day . . ." He took another sip of tea. "So are you going out then? Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that," John said. "And you know I can't answer when I'm at work." He took out the new wallet and started moving all of his things into it. "Anything in for food?"

"No," Sherlock said, without really pausing to think about it. "Are you treating for dinner then, Mister Money Bags?" he asked.

"I suppose I can," John said. "Thanks for this, by the way. Is it a gift for everything I put up with from you?" he teased.

"Thanks for what? The tea? I make you tea all the bloody time," Sherlock said.

"No, the wallet!" John said, holding it up now that it was full.

"What about it?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, you want to play mysterious now? Fine. But you should know that I like it."

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to figure it out. John clearly thought something was going on. What was it? And was it connected to the sweets? Had they agreed to something Sherlock had forgotten all about?

"Good then, fine," Sherlock said. "So the sweets were you then?"

"What sweets?" John asked.

"Now don't try that, John Watson," Sherlock said suspiciously. He thought it was starting to make a little sense. "You can't bully me and then deny responsibility."

"What are you talking about?" John asked confused. "Are we ordering in or going out? I'm starving."

"Ordering in," Sherlock said quickly and then went back to the other issue. "You were trying to bully me by thanking me for something I didn't do and then when I tried to thank you for what you did do, you denied it. That's against the rules, John Watson."

John rang the number, looking at Sherlock with his brow furrowing deeper. "Sherlock, I honestly don't know what you are talking about right now. What rules? What did I do?" He looked away when someone answered and he placed their order for delivery, looking at Sherlock again when he hung up the phone. 

"You sent me sweets," Sherlock said. "Thank you, by the way. But don't play games."

"But I didn't!" John insisted.

"Fine, well, I didn't either," Sherlock said. "I mean I didn't do whatever it was you were accusing me of doing."

"You didn't send the wallet? Then who did?" John asked.

"No idea," Sherlock said. "Are you saying you didn't send the sweets?"

"I didn't send you anything. I already got your present."

"So who did? It's not even Christmas yet -- why is someone sending me a present and who is it?"

John shrugged. "Maybe it was a fan, a Secret Santa type thing."

"Very funny," Sherlock said. "Well, look, at the moment, I'm bored of this conversation -- the sweets were delicious whether you sent them or not." He held out his hand. "Want one?"

John took one, but as he brought it close to his mouth he winced. "Smells like soap, are you sure they're edible?"

Sherlock grabbed John's hand, taking the sweet back and popping it into his own mouth. "You can't have one if you're going to be so judgmental," he said, moving into the kitchen to get the plates.


	2. On The Second Day

The next day Sherlock woke to the sound of John in the kitchen. He thought about getting up and starting the day, but unless he'd received an email overnight, he didn't really have any projects to work on so he let himself fall back to sleep. When he woke again, it was to banging on the flat's door. He got up, slipped his dressing gown around him and went to answer it.  
  
"I was sleeping," he said, when he saw Mrs Hudson standing there.

"Well it's past noon, you shouldn't be," she said. "Here's your post -- you're welcome, by the way."  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled as he shut the door and turned towards the kitchen. There was another bang on the door. He opened it. "Yes? What?"

"Stop being so rude," she said. "You also got a package," she said, glancing down and pushing the box towards his door with her foot.

"What? What is it?" he asked as he bent down.

"How am I supposed to know?" she said. "You're even more unpleasant when you've just woken up," she added, heading back down the stairs.

Sherlock brought the post and package into the flat, setting it on the table. Again, this one hadn't been posted -- the only thing on it was his name. He got a knife and opened it. The box was full of package of his favourite biscuits, the kind John never bought. He took all the packs out, but there was nothing else inside. He moved over and made a cup of tea and then sat down with it at the table. He looked at the biscuits and then opened a pack and ate one.

This had to be from John -- John who was always eating, always trying to feed Sherlock. Maybe he was trying to trick Sherlock into eating by bringing in all his favourite foods. Had he told John these were his favourites? He couldn't remember. He ate another biscuit as he tried to figure it out.

When John came back from his lunch, the receptionist handed him a thin envelope. "What's this?" he asked. She shrugged. "It's not addressed properly or anything -- did someone drop this off?"

"I don't know. It was just sitting there with the post," he said.

John went into his office and, before calling in the next patient, he tore it open. It was a gift certificate, a free dinner for two at some restaurant John had never been. Was this Sherlock again? He took out his phone.

_Did you wear a disguise again? -JW_

Sherlock moved over to get his phone.

_Probably. What is it you're accusing me of now? SH_

_Did you come by here with another gift? -JW_

Sherlock looked at the biscuits. What was going on?  
  
_I didn't. Did you leave the biscuits? SH_

_Biscuits? Not me. -JW_

Sherlock had to be lying, John thought, but what was the point? Just hide that he had a sweet side? That kind of made sense.

_Are you saying we've both received gifts in the last two days and you have nothing to do with that? SH_

_Nope. And you didn't either? -JW_

Sherlock looked at the message and then the biscuits. He wasn't entirely sure he believed John. Was he just sending pretend gifts to himself to throw Sherlock off the track or was it some complicated guilt trip? Well, Sherlock wasn't going to give into that.

_I did not. Perhaps you were right and it's just Father Christmas. Mystery solved. When will you be home? SH_

_Not too late. -JW_

Rapid change of subject, John thought. It had to be Sherlock. Okay. John would play along for now.

Sherlock put his phone down, grabbed a packet of biscuits and lay down on the sofa to watch some crap telly until John got home.

John continued working with his mind distracted after that. If Sherlock was sending him a bunch of Secret Santa presents, maybe John should get him something. But Sherlock thought John already was. What was really going on here? He decided he would mention it in the blog when he got home -- maybe it really was a fan targeting both of them. That would be kind of nice, since only Sherlock usually got the glory from their followers. When he got home, he pulled the certificate out and used a magnet to stick it to the fridge. They still had leftovers for tonight so they could use it another night. 

"Hungry?" John called out, glancing at the biscuit packets spread out over the table. "Or have you filled up on biscuits?"

"I'm only eating them to be nice," Sherlock said, still lounging on the sofa. "Are you treating me to dinner again or do you just mean leftovers?" He picked up his mug which was empty. "I will take tea if that's part of your offer." 

"I was talking about leftovers. I got a gift certificate to a new restaurant, but we can save that for another day. Don't suppose you know anything about that?"

"Why would I know anything about restaurants?" Sherlock asked. "Do you know anything about tea because my cup is still empty." He tipped his mug towards John, but then stood up and moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. "So we both got gifts again today? Should we be worried? Is this some kind of . . . I don't know . . ploy to lull us into a sense of security that people in the world are kind and then we let our guard down and someone moves in to destroy us?"  
  
John took out his dinner from the microwave. "I'm sure it's just a fan. I'm going to post it on the blog and see if anyone knows."

"Do you think that's wise?" Sherlock asked, grabbing John's arm. "If we're under attack, we shouldn't let all and sundry know we're vulnerable." He let go of John's arm and picked some food of his plate. "Besides, this might make Father Christmas jealous and then he won't bring you a new Action Man on Christmas." He laughed a little at himself and then turned to pour the tea.

John rolled his eyes again. "We're not under attack, Sherlock. And I'll get everything I've asked for because I have been a good boy." He winked and moved to the table to eat.

"That's what you think -- once I file my report to Santa, he'll see straight through your 'good boy' persona," Sherlock said. He set a mug down for John and then sat across from him with his own. "Look, are we going to do something tonight -- watch a film or something? I'm sick of being bored on my own. Can't we be bored together?"

John studied him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. We can do a film. My blogging can wait until the morning."

"Good -- I'll be giving a running commentary on how crap the movie is and it's more fun to do that with an audience," Sherlock said. "Maybe tomorrow you'll get a new DVD, something that's actually interesting," he offered, smiling as he drank his tea.

"Well, I guess it depends on you, doesn't it?" John asked. 

"Ha, ha, ha, John," Sherlock said sarcastically. "Look, don't take my comment as a request for you to get me a DVD. No offense but I don't trust your taste. If tomorrow one of your ridiculous action films -- or worse yet porn -- arrives at this flat with my name on it, you will have entirely ruined my Christmas." 

"You better not send me anything like that, Sherlock!" John said. They both knew it was Sherlock, why didn't he just admit it already?

"I wouldn't pay for your porn, John Watson," Sherlock laughed. He reached for a fork and then took a bite of John's food. "Hurry up and finish," he said. "I'm bored of being bored." 

"I am starting to think you don't really know what being bored means. I can bring the plate to the sofa, if you want."

"Shut up and entertain me," Sherlock said, laughing again. He topped up his tea and then moved over to the sofa. "Don't make me choose something but try to choose something I'll like."  
  
"Shall I just put my face on the screen?" John teased, browsing their options. "Here, we can watch _[**The Theory of Everything**](https://youtu.be/Salz7uGp72c)_."

"Never heard of it," Sherlock said. "But I'll keep an open mind." He smiled stupidly at John as they both knew he wouldn't.

"It's about Stephen Hawking," he said. 

"A documentary?"

"No, a proper film," John said. He started the movie and sat down, putting his plate in his lap to finish eating. 

"Hmmm," Sherlock said skeptically. "I'll try," he said, trying to get a little more comfortable.

About ten minutes in, he was already struggling to focus. He didn't really understand the appeal of films -- why not just read a book? "Did you enjoy your food?" he said, standing up to take John's plate to the kitchen. He put the kettle on again.

"Yeah, it was all right for leftovers," he said. 

Sherlock returned with two more cups of tea, setting them down on the table before nipping back to get another packet of biscuits. He flopped down on the sofa again.

"Can I have some?" John asked. 

"Obviously," Sherlock said, taking a few and balancing them on the sofa's arm before handing the packet to John.

John put the packet between them and dipped one in his tea. "I didn't know if you were going to share your gift," he teased. 

"Well don't make any assumptions about future gifts," Sherlock said. "I reserve the right to hog tomorrow's if I want to."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," John said. 

Sherlock smiled and turned his head back towards the television. He lasted twenty minutes this time before he felt the need to get up and move around again. He made them another cup of tea. A half hour later he felt like he was bursting so he got up to go to the toilet, insisting that John not stop the film for him. When it was finally over, he said, "Well, that was an excellent film. Good choice," as he popped another biscuit in his mouth.

John laughed. "You don't have to lie," he said. "I don't know what will make you happy."

Sherlock glanced over at John. For a second in flashed in his mind, that he did feel quite happy -- despite his current boredom, ever since John moved in, Sherlock was just happy. But that was a little more sentimentality than he was prepared to reveal at the moment, so instead he said, "Well, you've done well so far with the sweets and biscuits. Now you just need to get my film preferences clear, and we'll be sorted."

"You mean your Secret Santa's done well," John corrected.

"Right," Sherlock said.

They spent the next hour or two flicking through the channels. Before bed, John checked the blog and Sherlock checked his email, but neither had anything new. When Sherlock got into bed, he realised that, although the evening hadn't been very productive, he'd quite enjoyed it.


	3. On The Third, Fourth, Fifth, And Sixth Days

On Wednesday morning, Sherlock got up early and he left when John left. John had said he'd already bought Sherlock a proper Christmas present, but Sherlock hadn't gotten anything for John yet. He wandered around the shops for a bit, but nothing struck him. When he got back to Baker Street, he knocked on Mrs Hudson's door, hoping for a bit of advice.

"Your face looks dreadful," she said, leading him into the kitchen for some tea. "I'm making soup if you want some."

"I was just out shopping," he said grumpily. "I hate shopping."  
  
"Were you out buying me a gift? I can give you a list if you want," she said smiling. "Oh yeah, that reminds me -- your package came," she said, nodding towards the other room.

"What package?" he said.  
  
"Whatever you ordered, I guess," she said. "I don't open other people's packages, especially when I'm hoping there's something inside for me."  
  
"Where's it from?"  
  
"Just go get it," she said. "I'm trying to cook here!" She nodded her head towards the door again since her hands were in messy from the onion she was cutting up.

Sherlock retrieved the box. This one had a shipping label on it with his name, but no information about where it came from. "Did the postman bring it or was it a delivery guy?"

"I have no idea," she said. "It was at the door when I went out to get bread. Is it a surprise or something you were waiting for? Just open it."  
  
Sherlock reached for a knife and slid it against the edges. There was a lot of bubble wrap inside so he reached in and pulled out a smaller box. There was nothing written on that. He opened that and inside was an even smaller box. He looked over at Mrs Hudson.

"Oh this is fun -- I love things like this," she said encouragingly. "Open it."  
  
Sherlock felt a bit more suspicious, but opened the box. Inside was an envelope. He opened that and it was a receipt for six months of milk delivery.

"Oh, that's clever!" Mrs Hudson laughed. "He's tricky, John is!"  
  
"Do you think this is from John?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," she said. "You're always forgetting to get milk -- it's like a joke present." She looked over at his face. "Why? What's going on?"

"Well, for the last three days I've had a gift delivered and --" he noticed Mrs Hudson's face starting to smile. He continued "-- and before you start going on about John's loveliness, none of the gifts has been from John. Or so he says."

"So who are they from? It must be John," she said.

"That's what I thought . . . but he's been getting gifts, too. And, of course, he could be getting them for himself as some sort of elaborate scheme but I don't get the sense that's the case, plus I doubt he could afford to be buying all these gifts for both of us anyway." Sherlock took a sip of tea. "It's odd and possibly worrying."  
  
"Well, if all the gifts are as practical as milk delivery, I think you should just be grateful you have a personal Father Christmas," she said, drying her hands on some kitchen roll.

He looked over at her. "Are you sending them?" he asked.

"Obviously not," she said, moving over to sit down next to him. "I don't give gifts unless I know I'm getting one back and if you've come home empty handed from your shopping trip, I'm guessing you haven't bought me anything."

"I was trying to find something to buy John," Sherlock said. "When I was accusing him of sending these things, he said he'd already bought my present and I haven't bought anything for him."  
  
"Do you need some ideas?" she asked.

"He's my best friend -- I can get my own present for my own best friend," he said defensively. "But if you'd like to share your ideas . . . I guess I can't stop you." She smiled and got out a piece of paper to make notes.

___________________________________________

On Thursday John went into work thinking about the gifts from the day before. If it really wasn't Sherlock buying them, that it had to be a fan. Sending Sherlock a six month supply of milk -- they'd argued in the comments a few times about who's turn it was, so really everyone knew they always needed it. It was such an odd but useful present. He didn't understand. And that didn't explain his own gift from yesterday, a soft cream colored jumper that even Sherlock said was acceptable -- well, he said it was the only one he wouldn't think about throwing out when he got his hands on John's wardrobe. It was really nice and a perfect fit. Strange.

As soon as John walked into the surgery, Sarah came out of her office to meet him. "Listen, I know you're here quite a bit, but you can't keep having packages sent here."

"What?" John asked, looking to where she was pointing. There was a fairly large box on the floor by the front desk. "Who dropped that off?"

Sarah shrugged. "I didn't see but your name is on the top."

John went to look at the block letters written in felt tip. Sherlock could easily disguise his handwriting so he didn't bother too much with that. He lifted it, surprised by how light it actually was. "I need to see the security footage."

"What? Why?"

"I didn't order this, and this is the fourth gift in a row and I need to see who's doing this."

She gave him an odd look but agreed. After he put the box down he followed her into her office and watched. He leaned close. Was that Sherlock in disguise? Has he paid someone to bring it? He didn't recognise the person at all. He thanked Sarah and went back to his office, examining the box. Sighing, he cut the tape and opened it. He grabbed the looped handle at the top and pulled. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered. It was a pillow for his bed, shaped like a small armchair so he could comfortably sit up to work. It even had little arms like a chair did. This had to be Sherlock! Who else knew all the time he spent blogging in bed? They could guess, he assumed, but that didn't make any sense -- who would go through all of this trouble? 

"John, what's going on?" Sarah asked, leaning against the door. 

John shrugged. "Either Sherlock is really outdoing himself with a prank, or we have a very determined Secret Santa. I have no idea," he said, lowering the pillow back into the box. He put it out of the way as patients started making their way into the lobby. They had to get to the bottom of this soon. 

___________________________________________

On Friday, Sherlock was out shopping again, but still hadn't found anything. Mrs Hudson's ideas were all things John would like, but Sherlock wanted to get him something special. He wasn't even sure why -- Christmas was a bit stupid really, and there was no reason to make a fuss. But still . . . there must be a good present out there for John.

When he walked up the stairs to his door, he saw a vase full of flowers. Odd. He bent down and saw the card with his name on it, but --unsurprisingly at this point -- no sign of who had sent them. He carried them into the flat and set them on the table to inspect. That's when he realised their importance. A big bloom of hydrangea, some foxglove, some delicate lilies of the valley, as well as some stalks of oleander and wisteria: all quite pretty but every single one of them poisonous. Whoever sent this must have known that. John would have known that -- or at least known it was the kind of thing Sherlock would like. He grabbed his phone.

_Thank you very much, but you should stop, John. This is getting too expensive. SH_

_I was just going to say the same to you. -JW_

John was leaning back in his seat, looking at his most recent present -- a set of whiskey stones. They were top quality, and too much for a Secret Santa gift that was already part of so many. 

Sherlock was confused. Was John really going to all this expense and trouble with two sets of gifts just to fool him?

_I don't know what to make of any of this, but I think it should stop. If it's you, I appreciate it. If it's not, do you think we should call Lestrade? SH_

There. John would surely admit it now if he thought the cops were going to get involved.

_Do you think we should? This is getting a bit dramatic. -JW_

How far was Sherlock going to take this? John wondered.

_Just come home. If some murderer dressed as Santa shows up, it'll be easier to take him if there's two of us here. SH_

_Santa is not going to kill you, Sherlock. I'll be home after work. -JW_

Sherlock made himself another cup of tea, smiling a bit as he looked at the flowers while he waited for the kettle to boil. He took the tea to his desk and got out some of his old research notes. With no new cases -- and his apparent inability to get John to confess to the whole Secret Santa thing -- he might as well dig up some old work to keep him busy for a while.

___________________________________________

The next day Sherlock woke up early with a surprising bit of energy. John's bedroom door was still shut, so Sherlock thought he'd let him sleep in since it was a day off from the surgery. He'd decided last night that today was the day he was going to get John's Christmas gift. He still didn't have any ideas, but if he went out to face the crowds with a sturdy determination, that would be enough for the perfect present to reveal itself to him. Or at least that's what he hoped.

John rolled over away from the light streaming into the room, trying to fall asleep again. It wasn't working. He pushed himself up and got out of bed, staying in his pajamas as he used the bathroom and freshened up. He made his way downstairs, heading to the kitchen for tea and breakfast. The flat was quiet so Sherlock must have gone out.

John looked around for the paper but didn't see it anywhere. That wasn't like Sherlock, usually he brought it in and started his day with it. He went down to get it. When he opened the door, he sighed softly. He couldn't even be surprised anymore.

There were two boxes, sitting on top of the newspaper -- one with Sherlock's name and one with his. So that's why Sherlock hadn't brought the paper in. John took everything up to the flat and opened his box. It was a new stethoscope, much nicer than his own. This was really getting out of hand.

_Thank you but I thought you'd decided to stop. -JW_

When Sherlock's phone vibrated, he still hadn't found anything yet. He sighed when he read the message.

_No idea what you're talking about. Go back to sleep until you can make sense. SH_

_The stethoscope, Sherlock. You didn't have to. Again. -JW_

Well, this was a strange strategy, Sherlock thought. Had John now abandoned getting Sherlock anything and he was just buying himself things? A stethoscope. Why hadn't Sherlock thought of that? John was getting himself better presents than Sherlock could ever get him, which somehow, despite its logic, just didn't seem fair.

_What is the point of Christmas if you're just going to keep buying yourself everything you want? SH_

_What? I hardly have money for rent and groceries! I'm not buying gifts for either of us! -JW_

_Are you saying there was something for me as well? SH_

_There was, but I haven't opened it. -JW_

Sherlock frowned.

_All right. I'll be back soon. Do you need anything bringing in? SH_

_No thanks. -JW_

Sherlock walked off even more determined than ever. He was going to find something that was better than any gift John -- or the mysterious Secret Santa -- could possibly think of. He must have gone to a dozen shops, before he realised it wasn't going to happen. Perhaps he'd find something online? He still had a few days -- he'd pay to ship it overnight if he had to. He wondered if what had started off as a nice motivation had been replaced by a weird sense of competition, before deciding it didn't matter. He was going to win this Christmas if it killed him. He walked back to the flat empty handed.

John walked over and looked at the box waiting for Sherlock. Did he leave one for himself as well to try and throw John off the trail? Had he been gifting things to himself just to pull off this elaborate charade? It didn't make much sense -- like Sherlock mentioned when he accused John of the same thing, it was expensive. There was no point to it. He picked Sherlock's up and shook it a bit, but he didn't hear anything. He set it down again and went to top up his mug while he waited for Sherlock to come home. He was finding it all a bit sweet, if he was honest. The gifts were nice, practical things that showed how well Sherlock knew him. He remembered when he first came to look at the flat with him, thinking he was going to be moving in with a very strange man, but he was intrigued from the beginning. He liked Sherlock a lot, and this had been a very good decision. He made a mental note to send something to Mike for Christmas as well as a thank you. He noticed he was wiggling as he was waiting, so he hurried to the bathroom.

Sherlock let himself into the flat, but didn't see John. He saw a box on the table but decided to ignore it until John was home. Perhaps if John saw Sherlock opening it, Sherlock could read the truth on his face. He moved to put the kettle on and then heard the toilet flush. So John was home. He set two mugs on the counter and created a secret race in his mind: which would happen first, John coming out of the bathroom or the kettle boiling?

John washed his hands and made his way back down the steps. "Sherlock?" he called out, seeing his coat hanging by the door. 

Sherlock had already poured the tea. "You lose," he said, handing a mug to John.  
  
"Lose what?" John asked, taking the mug from Sherlock. 

"The race," Sherlock said and then realised that had only happened in his mind and was quite stupid anyway. "Where's this so-called gift?"

"The what?" John asked, shaking his head. "Um, it's there on the desk," he said, pointing.

"What is it, then?" he asked, picking it up and testing the weight.

"I didn't open yours," John said. He moved over to the desk. "Open it up, then."

Sherlock slipped open the package. It seemed like it was mostly full of fluffy cotton, but there was another smaller box inside. He wondered if this was going to be like the milk one. He opened the little box and found four dozen new slides for his microscope. He looked up. "Thanks," he said. "I can always use these."

"I didn't get them -- what is it?" John asked, moving closer to look. 

"New slides," he said, tipping the box towards John. Was he just playing dumb? Sherlock looked over at him. Truthfully, it seemed like John really hadn't known what was in the box. Then who was it? He put the slides on the desk and the packaging in the bin. Then he remembered his failed mission this morning. He picked up his laptop. "I think I might go into the bedroom to work for a bit. Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead. I think I am going to finally post this and see what happens. Someone must have an idea, if nothing else."

Sherlock pulled a face. He still wasn't convinced this was a good idea. "Just don't put specifics, though, all right? It's worrying enough someone knows so much about us . . ." Even as the words came out of his mouth, he realised his mistake. It _had_ to be John. He must have misread John's look or John must be getting better at deceiving him. Which was frustrating, but in a strange way, Sherlock kind of respected it. "Just be sensible," he said and headed into his room.

John watched him go. He couldn't tell anything from the conversation -- he had been paying close attention, but it didn't seem like he was getting any better at observing. And Sherlock was good. Maybe when he posted the entry, Sherlock would stop -- wouldn't it be suspicious if no one answered and the gifts kept appearing? He went up to his room to get his laptop, coming back down to his chair and opening his blog. 

Sherlock went into the bedroom and starting looking online for the perfect gift. He dug Mrs Hudson's suggestions out of his pocket, but they all seemed too . . . Mrs Hudson-y. He wanted something that could have only come from him. But after a few hours of searching, he hadn't found anything. He even read over the blog, hoping he'd discover some clue about what John wanted, but to be fair the posts always made John look pretty happy already. Which he should be, Sherlock thought, because the cases had all been very satisfying. What more could anyone want? Of course, there was the occasional mention of Sherlock's interrupting one of John's dates, but Sherlock could hardly use that information for a Christmas gift. Money can't buy love. He leaned back on the bed, not very pleased he still didn't have anything to give John on Christmas Day.


	4. On The Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, And Tenth Days

Unfortunately Sherlock was not able to make much progress on the shopping front. On Sunday, he came up with the idea of searching John's bedroom -- if he could see every single thing that was in there, he'd be able to tell what wasn't and that could be the thing to buy. But John was off work and didn't leave the flat. Sherlock didn't either. Mrs Hudson came up with two padded envelopes, saying she'd found them by the door. Sherlock opened his, and it was a lovely fountain pen. John's was a small medical pen light.

More gifts came Monday and Tuesday. Sherlock had woken to a text from Lestrade -- not really a case but a small project to work on, so he was out of the flat both days. He beat John home on Monday and found two packages with the post. John got home first on Tuesday so he was the one who stumbled over those.

By Wednesday morning, Sherlock realised that if he didn't get John a proper gift today, he'd have nothing for him. Tomorrow Molly was having a party, which John was obviously keen to go to since he had reminded Sherlock about at least three times every day this week. And then it would be Christmas Day and John would have a present for Sherlock who'd have nothing to offer in return. Sherlock had made a cup of tea for John who was just coming down after his shower. 

"Here you go," Sherlock said, nodding towards the tea. "So, I wanted to ask you something -- I feel like I remember you saying there was something you needed . . . maybe it was a week or so ago or maybe three weeks or possibly a couple months ago. Do you remember?"

John looked over at Sherlock with his brows slightly furrowed. "I don't remember, no," he said. He took a second to think about it before shaking his head. "Sorry. What was it? Why are you asking?" He wondered if Sherlock was finally running out of ideas, only now it was just about to be Christmas anyway so it didn't matter. He'd kept this going consistently, double gifts everyday -- when he finally revealed it, John was going to owe him a lot of things. His own present seemed a bit lame after everything this week. 

"Nothing -- I don't know what I'm talking about," Sherlock said. For a second, he wondered if he should just pretend the gifts had been from him. "Any news from Santa about your blog post? Anyone claiming responsibility for mysterious gift attack?"

John shook his head. "A couple people liked the post, but no one has commented on it. I was sure someone would take responsibility. They've been so thoughtful . . . I just wanted to give them credit." He looked at Sherlock again, waiting to see if he would bite. 

"I wonder if the presents will just keep coming perpetually. Do you think we'll just keep getting packages every day for the rest of our lives?" Sherlock asked.

John almost sighed in exasperation. "No, I am sure whoever is doing it will stop once Christmas is over. Well, pretty sure," he said. 

"Right," Sherlock said. "I guess you're right. Do you work tomorrow?" he asked. "If you think you'll be too tired to go to Molly's party, I understand."

"No, I don't work and we're going," John said sternly. "Do you want to try that new restaurant tonight? I have that gift certificate."

"Fine," Sherlock pouted. "However, do not think that your bribing me with a fancy pants restaurant will make me behave appropriately at the party. I have no plans to, you know."

John ignored that. "I can text you when I'm on my way home from work, if you want. We can meet there."

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Take the certificate, though, so I don't forget it." He pulled it off the fridge and handed it to John. He put his mug in the sink. "I'm going to shower and then I'm heading out as well. Was there something I was supposed to pick up for you? What was it you said you needed?" he asked, trying one more time.

John folded the certificate into his wallet and shook his head. "I don't need anything," he said. "I'll see you later." He nudged Sherlock's arm before heading out to work.

Sherlock quickly took a shower and then headed out. He walked down a few streets, stopping and looking at the windows. There were so many Christmas decorations and people pushing each other, trying to grab items, flashing their credit cards at the tills -- it was actually quite depressing. This wasn't what he wanted to do for John. This wasn't how he wanted them to be. He headed home, unsurprised to see a mysterious box on the step.

John went into work and was glad the lobby was full. It was a good distraction and it made the time pass by faster keeping busy like that. Before he knew it he was having lunch and, no longer to his surprise, another envelope arrived. This one had a fancy pen, a really nice one for the office. He didn't even bothering messaging Sherlock. Maybe if he didn't say anything at all Sherlock would reveal himself by trying to ask if John got it. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He finished eating, quite pleased with himself, and then went back to work. It was slowing down now, and he was able to finish up a bit early.

_I'll be on my way in a few minutes. -JW_

Sherlock hit reply but suddenly realised he couldn't recall the name of the restaurant. He knew the paper had been on the fridge for almost a week, but he'd never actually read it.

_What's the name of the restaurant again? SH  
_

John took out the certificate and copied the name, sending it to Sherlock. Was this part of his game?

_See you soon. SH_

No comments yet about the pen, but it was still early. John finished up with his patients, left the pen in his desk, and headed out to meet Sherlock.

Sherlock checked himself in the mirror and decided to quickly change his shirt and put on the cufflinks which had been in today's box. Then he headed off. The streets were packed, and the people annoyed him and he wondered if they'd been stupid to decide to go out the day before Christmas Eve. But when he saw John waiting for him at the door of the restaurant, he relaxed a bit. They went in and got a table, ordering a bottle of wine before looking over the menu.

John smiled as he looked over the menu. "Everything has fancy names -- this was a nice gift."

"Yeah, the food is here is good -- you'll definitely enjoy it," Sherlock said, choosing his meal and closing the menu. He fiddled with his wine glass.

"You sound confident -- you've been here before?" John asked, taking a sip of his own wine.

"Yeah, I came here with Mycroft once, though why he chose such a romantic meeting place, I do not know," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "Why did you choose it again?"

John looked around the room. It was romantic -- more so than Angelo's, though he would never say that out loud. He flushed lightly as he thought that that's why Sherlock picked it -- was all of the gift giving trying to tell him something? He looked at Sherlock again and dispelled the thought. Sherlock wasn't interested in stuff like that. "Well, we're not here romantically," he said. "And you know why I picked it -- the certificate you got. I mean, the Secret Santa got."

"Right," Sherlock said. "Maybe you should've saved it for one of your ridiculous dates instead of wasting it on me."  
  
"It's not wasted on you," John said. He picked up his glass and sipped more wine. "I like spending time with you."

Sherlock smiled. "Are you going to behave like you normally do on dates? You could show me your usual techniques and I can offer a critique -- consider it my Christmas gift," Sherlock said, smiling a little.

John smiled and shook his head. "You've done enough gifting already. Besides, I get enough critique out of you -- maybe if you're my date, you'll actually approve for once." He said it without thinking, but he didn't take it back.

"Hmmm . . . what's the point of even going on a date if you can't critique the person?" Sherlock asked, taking a sip of wine. A few minutes later, the food came and Sherlock actually started to properly eat. "Mine's good. Is yours?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's great," he agreed. "Let's not tell Angelo, though," he smiled. Sherlock didn't seem too bothered with John not mentioning the pen. "What did you do today?"

"I had to go out for a bit," Sherlock said. "And when I came home I found these," he added, lifting his wrists to show John his cufflinks. "I noticed you didn't even mention them, which is a bit hurtful."

"I didn't notice you had new ones," John said, pulling at his wrist to examine them. "They are nice. Whoever got them has good taste."

Sherlock pulled a face. "There's only one more day before Christmas, John -- are you going to hold out on confessing until them? Really? You don't need to do anything of this anymore. It's so kind, but I already knew you were the kindest person I know . . ."

"It's not me! It's you, and trying to be sweet on me won't distract me!" he said. "That pen I got today looked a bit expensive -- you're being very nice, Sherlock, but it's gone too far."

Sherlock looked up. "Do you think I'm trying to be sweet on you?" he asked, topping up both of their wine glasses.

John shrugged. "Saying all the nice stuff . . . I'm just saying that you are being really nice too, and I appreciate you and am glad that I have you as a friend." He picked up his wine glass and swallowed quite a bit of it. 

"And if the gifts aren't from me -- does all of that still hold true?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course it does," John said. "I don't like you because of gifts."

"Well, I'm sweet on you even if it's not you sending the gifts," Sherlock said. "Even though I know it is." He smiled.

"It is not! Sherlock, it's not me!" John insisted. Why didn't Sherlock believe him? When Sherlock confessed after Christmas, John was really going to let him have it.

"Fine, Scrooge, it's not you," Sherlock said, laughing a little. He realised he was feeling a little tipsy, but that was all right. They kept eating and talking and laughing. When they finished, Sherlock asked, "Dessert or tea and coffee or home?"

"Hmm, let's get dessert. Then we can walk home to burn it off," he smiled.

"All right," Sherlock said. The server brought the dessert tray, and John chose a chocolate mousse cup while Sherlock got a cheese board. "I'm not sure about a walk, John -- there's so many people about. I don't like people -- I just like you," he said as he ate a piece of brie.

John felt his cheeks warm a bit. Their conversation had been very odd tonight. He didn't know what to make of it. "We can get a cab, I don't mind."

"Thanks," Sherlock said. "Does that mean you won't mind if I skip Molly's party tomorrow?" He did one of his stupid smiles.

"Now you're pushing it!" John laughed. "It'll be fun, Sherlock. We don't have to stay all night."

"You've ruined my Christmas, John Watson," Sherlock said, laughing again. When they finished, John turned in the gift certificate but between the two of them, they left the server a generous tip. When they got outside, Sherlock pulled up his collar and tightened his scarf. "It's gone quite cold all of a sudden," he said. "Or maybe it was just quite warm in there." He pulled John to the kerb, so they could catch a taxi.

John lifted his arm and a cab pulled up. "I'm glad we're not walking," he said as they got in. "I thought it was warmer like before."

Sherlock stared out the window as they drove on. "All those people and all that money . . . it's a bit daft, isn't it?" he said, turning his head towards John.

"What's that? The holiday shopping?"

"Yeah and just . . . being forced to act like you like your family and friends," Sherlock mumbled.

John looked over at him. Was he faking to win John's sympathies? He hated how well it worked. "Look, if you're going to be that miserable then don't go to the party." 

Sherlock looked over at John, whose face looked disappointed. Why did it bother Sherlock so much to see disappointment on John Watson's face? "It's just . . . well, I hate everyone, don't I? You're my only friend . . . I'll go but just don't try to make me like it," he said.

"Don't say that. I know you play tough but you like Molly and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson," he said. "You can stay by us -- you know going will make all of them happy."

"They're . . . okay, I guess. But they're not like you," Sherlock mumbled as the taxi pulled up outside Baker Street. He gave the driver some money and unlocked the door. "You know," he said as they walked upstairs. "If we get packages tomorrow, they could be dangerous -- we've just been opening them without thinking. That might be just what he wants us to do. Tomorrow we open them and -- kablooie." He laughed a little as they moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He was no longer tipsy but was feeling quite relaxed. 

"I don't think that's going to happen, Sherlock. You're just being paranoid," he said. He stretched and yawned, sinking into his chair. He wondered what the last gift would be. He was a bit sad the game would be over, but he was ready to get Sherlock's confession. 

Sherlock brought the tea into the sitting room and sat across from John. "Tonight was nice, John," he said. "Thanks for inviting me."

John smiled. "It was nice. I'm glad you came with me."

Sherlock took another sip of tea and realised he felt quite sleepy. He made a small yawn. "We're a good pair, aren't we?" he mumbled a little, not quite sure what he meant by that.

John couldn't stop looking at him. "Yeah, we are," he said quietly. "Let's go to bed."

Sherlock made a small cough as a laugh erupted from his throat. "Is that the technique you use on your dates? No wonder you come home alone," he teased.

John rolled his eyes even as his cheeks flushed. He stood up and turned for the kitchen. "Good night, Sherlock." He put his mug in the sink and headed upstairs. 

"Good night, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I'll see you in the morning." He washed up both their mugs and then went to bed.

John got ready for bed and, after he was lying down and trying to sleep, realised that he was still smiling. He shifted and tried to make it go away -- he didn't even know why the smile was still there on his face. His mind flashed to Sherlock and he shook his head. This present thing was really throwing him off. It was so sweet of him really. John closed his eyes and finally dozed off. 


	5. On The Eleventh Day

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, he stayed in bed for a bit. He felt warm and comfortable and was worried that as soon as he got out it'd be freezing. He heard John in the kitchen so he reached for his phone.

_I'm cold. Please make a fire and put the kettle on. Don't complain. That can be today's present. SH_

John rolled his eyes and went to start the fire, going back to the kitchen for the kettle. "Make my present no nagging!" he called back, teasing.

"Bring the tea in when it's ready!" Sherlock called back.

"No! Come out to the fire I just slaved over," he grinned.

Sherlock huffed and slid out of bed, wrapping his dressing gown around him. He went out and flopped onto the sofa. "Where's the tea?" he grumbled.

John brought the mug over and sat in his chair. "There was nothing with the paper," he said.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You trying to teach me a lesson or something?" he asked, taking the tea and giving a little nod of thanks.

"I am simply saying," he said.

"Why would Santa abandon us on Christmas Eve? I told you this holiday was stupid," Sherlock said. "You sleep okay? Not hungover, are you?"

"Of course not, I wasn't drunk," he said. "And Santa will still come on Christmas, don't you worry."

All of a sudden Sherlock's stomach started to hurt as he remembered that he'd never found a present for John. He would simply have to lie, pretend he'd ordered it but it hadn't arrived. "Right," he mumbled, trying to act normal. "Um, what time's this party then? I need to gear up -- I'm thinking of getting totally drunk before we even get there -- that okay?"

"It's not until five. Please don't do that," John said.

"Spoil sport," Sherlock said. He sat up a bit more and stretched his legs a little. "I wish we could just stay here, just the two of us," he said quietly. "But I'll be a good boy," he said, smiling over at John.

John sighed softly. "I told you you don't have to go."

"But then your little heart will break and we don't want that," Sherlock said. "Besides, if I don't go, you'll pout and you know how I hate pouting -- it's so immature."

John smiled. "We don't have to stay long," he compromised.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "Thanks for doing the fire. I just woke up with a chill."

"Come sit in your chair, closer."

Sherlock got up and moved over. "Bossy," he mumbled with a smile. "Are you doing anything today or just hanging round until it's time to go?" he asked.

"Just hanging around and then getting ready," John said. 

"I might take a bath," Sherlock said. "Might help with warming me up." He finished his tea. "Are we supposed to be dressed up for this party?"

"I don't think so. I mean, don't go in your dressing gown, but you don't need a tuxedo."

"Is it fancy dress? Do you have a Father Christmas costume upstairs you'll be wearing?" Sherlock said, laughing a bit to himself.

John grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know," he teased.

Sherlock stood up and put the kettle on again. "I'm going to have one more cup while I check my email and then I'll have my bath, I think," he said. "Do you need another cup?"

"No thanks," John said, lifting his computer into his lap to check the blog. 

Sherlock poured his tea and took it over to his desk. He didn't really have any interesting emails so he read the paper online for a bit. When he finished his tea, he took the mug to the sink and then went in to start the bath. While it ran, he went into his bedroom and pulled out some clothes for the evening. He went back into the bedroom which had filled with steam. It felt lovely, but when he touched the water with his fingertips it was too hot. He ran a little cold water until it felt comfortable enough to get in. He sank into the water and leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

John browsed the blog for a while. There were still no comments about the Secret Santa. He wandered downstairs for the post, but there was nothing for them. Of course there couldn't be, because Sherlock was here with him the whole time. He went up to his room and laid out clothes while he waited for Sherlock to come out.

When the water started to cool, Sherlock dried off. He shaved and fiddled a bit with his hair, but put his pajamas back on, deciding to wait until right before they left to get dressed.

John came down and smiled at Sherlock, going into the bathroom to take a quick shower. He came out in his dressing gown, sitting by the fire again. "No gifts have arrived," he said. 

"Being tricky, are you?" Sherlock said, curling up in his chair. "Oh that's right -- they're not from you. So what do you think is going on?"

"I'm not being anything," he said.

Sherlock smirked. He looked over at John. "You're wearing your dressing gown out? I thought you said that was inappropriate," he said, still smirking.

"I'm not dressed yet, you goof!" John laughed.

"I was thinking of staying in mine," Sherlock said, flapping it open and closed. "I'm sure Molly would want me to comfortable at the party."

"Stop that!" he laughed. "She would not like that."

"Is Mrs Hudson going with us or does she have a date?"

"She's going alone. She might already be there to help, honestly."

"I'm surprised you didn't offer to do that yourself," Sherlock teased. "You love that kind of stuff -- fussing about and all." He sat up quickly. "We should have bought something for Molly. Why didn't you think about that? You're a terrible person, John Watson."

"I did. I have a nice bottle of wine from both of us," he said.

"Good, thank you," Sherlock said. "I take it back. You're not a terrible person, John Watson." He laughed a little. "I hope that generous show of affection doesn't bowl you over."

"I feel a bit swept off my feet, to be honest," he said. He grinned and stuck his tongue out.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. "You know -- maybe one of us should stay here . . . in case our packages get delivered. It'd be a shame to miss them," he said.

"Sherlock, I'm not going over this again. I told you to do whatever you want," he said. "I'm going to change."

Sherlock stood up as well. "Fine, if you're going to be a big baby about it, I'll go," he said. He headed to his own bedroom, adding a few stomps just for good measure.

John rolled his eyes and went to get dressed, fussing with his damp hair a bit.

Sherlock got dressed. He put his new cufflinks on, thinking that John really did have good taste. He came out and waited on the sofa for John.

John looked over his whole appearance -- his dark jeans, a burgundy button up and the new cream sweater he had 'mysteriously' received. He fussed with his hair one more time before heading downstairs. "I just have to grab the wine," he said. "You look nice, by the way."

Sherlock looked at John. "As do you," he said. "Are you trying to catch someone's eye tonight?"

John only winked in response, but then he felt bad. "No, I'm going with you," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "At least for once you'll have a date you know will be coming home with you afterward. Consider that my Christmas present to you."

John snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You're ridiculous," he said.

"You should've realised that before you asked me on this date," Sherlock said, slipping on his coat and scarf.

John grinned. "You got me there."

"Come on," Sherlock said, pulling on John's arm to get him to the door. They went downstairs and when Sherlock pulled open the front door, he looked round. "There's nothing," he said. "What do you think it means?"

John shrugged. "Maybe the Secret Santa is out of town," he said.

Sherlock glanced on John, who seemed a bit nonchalant. "I'm sure you're right," he said, stepping to the kerb to catch a taxi. John gave Sherlock an amused look before climbing in.

Sherlock sat quietly as they drove through the streets. He felt a bit anxious, which he assumed was because he was going to a forced social event and he rarely felt comfortable at those. He also felt a bit confused about the fact there'd been no gifts -- which he realised was kind of stupid to feel. He didn't care about Christmas really and, if it hadn't been John, he didn't really care about the Secret Santa. But he'd really thought it was John doing it -- had he been so wrong? He looked over at John beside him.

John looked over at him and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay," he said. "We won't stay too long."

"I'm fine -- don't treat me like a baby," Sherlock said. He looked out the window. "But seriously, don't pull -- I'm sure they'll be all over you, just . . . don't leave me on my own, okay?"

"No one is going to be 'all over me', Sherlock, these are our friends."

"But you look all . . . handsome," Sherlock said. "Molly fancies you and she might have people there we've never met and they'll fancy you and then you'll be walking around like the king of the party and you won't even remember my name." He was teasing, of course, but there was a little part of him that worried if he and John were separated even for a moment, he'd panic.

John smiled softly. "Molly fancies you, Sherlock. But don't worry about all of that. I said you are my date tonight so . . . that's that."

"No one fancies me," Sherlock mumbled. "But thanks for being my date anyway," he said, glancing over and smiling. The taxi pulled up at Molly's and they got out, walking up to her door. Sherlock still felt a bit nervous, but he tried to relax.

"Thank God you came," Molly said when she opened the door. "I was worried you wouldn't." She smiled and took the wine. "Thanks, thank you, come in," she said, leading them into the party.

Sherlock scanned the room and saw six faces he didn't recognise. Four belonged to women. He stayed close to John, as if his presence next to him would keep John from noticing the girls.

"Can I get you something to --?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered before she had the full question out. "Whiskey."

"Um, I'll have a whiskey as well. Do you need help or anything?" John asked.

Molly smiled and took a breath. "No, actually it's fine -- I can relax now. Mrs Hudson helped a lot and now that you two are here, we can just have fun." She motioned for them to make themselves comfortable and went to get their drinks. Sherlock looked at John, waiting to see where to go.

"Let's wait here for the drinks and then we'll go talk to Greg for a bit," he said.

Sherlock just stood still. Mrs Hudson noticed them and came over. "Don't you both look so handsome!" she said, leaning in to put a kiss on John's cheek. She looked at Sherlock but just smiled. "One of Molly's friends is here, John," she said, turning back toward him. "She's single and very pretty."  
  
"John's with me tonight," Sherlock blurted out awkwardly.

"I see," she smiled and then winked at John to let him know she'd introduce him later.

Molly brought the drinks over and Sherlock quickly took too large of a gulp.

"So are you two already for tomorrow?" she asked.

"What's tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.

"Christmas, you idiot," Mrs Hudson said. "They refused to put up a tree," she said to Molly. "Well, Sherlock refused at least."

John grinned. "We're ready. We'll exchange gifts after breakfast, I think."

Mrs Hudson glanced at Sherlock whose face revealed the fact that he hadn't found anything. "Well, that'll be nice," she said. "Although it's so sweet how you've been getting each other presents all along."  
  
"We haven't," Sherlock said. "Well, I haven't at least."

"I haven't either. I think it's a fan or something," John said, with a slight glance to Sherlock. He guessed he was going to hold out to the end. 

"What's this about?" Molly asked.

"John's been sending me presents everyday for about a month but because he wants to keep up the pretense, he's been buying some for himself as well," Sherlock explained. "He's trying to force me to enjoy Christmas."  
  
"Well, you've liked all the presents, haven't you?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Yes, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "But that's not the point."

"I have not been buying the presents! If anything it's been you, trying to trick me or something!" John said.

"Why would I trick you? To what purpose?" Sherlock said defensively.

"As if you need an excuse to trick someone," Mrs Hudson muttered.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, I think we've heard enough from you on this matter," Sherlock said, pouring a little more whiskey down his throat.

"Um, could you two help me in the kitchen?" Molly asked.

John shot a glare at Sherlock and followed Molly. "You need to just admit it already, Sherlock. It's Christmas now!"

"It is not, it's Christmas Eve," Sherlock said, following along.

"Shut up, the both of you," Molly said. "Come on," she added leading them down the hallway into her bedroom.

"This isn't the kitchen," Sherlock said.

"Very observant, Sherlock," Molly said. "Now both of you, sit down." They both sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now, Sherlock, I need you to be honest here so don't be snarky, okay? Have you liked all the presents you've received? Remember, be honest."  
  
Sherlock glanced at John. "Yeah, they've all been good."

"And John? How about you?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I have," he said.

"All right, well, listen," Molly said, taking a deep breath. "You've been getting the gifts from each other."  
  
"Have not," Sherlock said, despite knowing how childish he sounded.

"Have too," Molly said. "Well, kind of. I mean, I'm the one who's been buying them but . . . well, I listen when you both talk -- specifically I listen when you talk about each other. The gifts were things that I knew you each wanted because I listen . . . and, despite the fact that the two of you are probably the smartest men in London, I know you don't listen . . . I mean you don't listen to each other."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked.

Molly sighed. "You two are so frustrating! Sherlock, I know you love John and John, I know you love Sherlock. Everyone knows it except the two of you. I got tired of you both being so stupid and so I hoped that all this would force you to see the truth."

John blinked at her, his mouth slightly open in surprise. And then his cheeks flushed and he shook his head. "I . . . we're friends," he said stupidly. "You must have heard something wrong because . . . we care about each other because we're friends."

Sherlock looked over at John. He didn't quite know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

"You really believe that?" she asked, a bit dumbfounded. "We're friends -- I'm friends with both of you. But you two are not friends. You're . . . more than friends. It's time for you to see that."  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth but still no words came out.

She smiled at him and then turned her head to John. "You're better at this," she said softly. "You've got more experience -- I knew I couldn't just point it out to him. His brain won't be able to sort it on his own --"  
  
"I'm sitting right here," Sherlock finally said. "Don't act like I'm not here."

She ignored him, still looking closely at John's face. "Think about it, John," she said softly. "You know it's true."

John looked away from her, down into his glass because he couldn't look anywhere else. Surely not at Sherlock. Things had been different lately -- the teasing about dates and calling each other handsome . . . but that wasn't love. His stomach twisted, because it was true, other things in the lives were love -- the way the two of them spent time together, worried about each other, looked out for each other. But Sherlock wasn't into that sort of thing. Was he? "Molly, I . . . thank you for the gifts," he said softly.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Thanks anyway."

She smiled lightly. "Well . . . you're welcome," she said. "So here's today's present -- the truth." She looked at them both. Two idiots really, but still quite sweet. "Let's go back to the party."  
  
Sherlock was still trying to make sense of everything she'd said. It seemed unlikely, but he also knew Molly was generally a bit wiser about all this than he was. He tried to sneak a glance at John. John was wiser about these things as well -- what did he really think? He'd already said what he thought: Molly was wrong.

John watched her go. "Well, mystery solved then," he said, trying to sound casual. He glanced at Sherlock, wondering what he was thinking.

"Yeah, a bit embarrassing we didn't figure it out -- I guess we had tunnel vision," Sherlock said. "Um, I need another drink, do you want me to get you one?"

"Yeah, another whiskey, please." John watched him go, rubbing his neck. He wished he could see what was going on in Sherlock's head. 

Sherlock moved over to the drinks cabinet and topped up both of their glasses. He wished they could go home -- no, he wished they'd never come. It was weird now. He wondered what everyone thought, wondered if Molly would keep talking about it, wondered if what she'd said had made something between them change. He didn't want to lose John. Maybe he did love John -- he wasn't even prepared to fight that claim -- but what Molly meant . . . John didn't want that from men. He glanced over at the woman talking to Mrs Hudson. She was the kind of person John wanted that kind of love from. He took the glasses back and handed one to John. "Going to go over and meet Molly's friend?" he asked, trying to sound normal.

John shook his head, taking a big sip of whiskey. "I said you were my date tonight," he reminded Sherlock. That was odd to say now after what Molly had said, but they both knew she was just being silly. Well, he hoped she was just being silly because if she was right and John responded . . . he couldn't stand admitting a feeling and being rejected by Sherlock.

Sherlock thought about John's words for a moment. He turned his body away from the others and dipped down to speak quietly in John's ear. "Were you part of Molly's little game then?"

"What?" John asked. "No, of course not," he said. He turned to face Sherlock even though they were very close. "Were you?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said, stepping back again. "She's sweet but it's daft. She knows how you are . . . maybe she's just jealous because you don't fancy her." That had to be it, he thought. Sherlock was the one who'd seen John hopelessly trying to find a girlfriend. He knew John couldn't feel that way toward him.

"What do you mean, the way I am?" John asked.

"Interested in women only," Sherlock said, taking another drink. "Everyone knows that -- you announce it frequently enough."

"I . . . well, what I said is that I'm not gay," John said. A loophole, he knew. He knew very well what those words implied, but none of that was anyone's business. He took another long sip.

"That's what I mean," Sherlock said. "Is there food?" he asked, looking round. He realised the whiskey was having a little effect on him.

John watched him for a moment, watching that he had missed John's wording again. Of course that was usually John's intention, so he didn't push it. "Yeah, i'ts all spread out on the kitchen table. I'll come with you for some -- I'm starved."

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and picked up a plate. He put a few crackers and cheese on it. "I don't like the biscuit choices," he mumbled.

"Hmm. She must have given all of the good ones to you," John said, taking cheese and crackers as well.

"I wish we could go home and have tea and good biscuits," Sherlock said. But he smiled when Molly came into the room, telling her how nice things were as enthusiastically as he could. He and John took their plates back into the other room. The sofa was empty so Sherlock quickly made a move.

John said hello to Greg and the person he was talking with -- John didn't know him -- before going to join Sherlock. He didn't want him alone too long.

Sherlock leaned over towards John. "Do you people are actually enjoying themselves?" he whispered.

John nodded. "Yeah, I think they are. I am," he smiled, looking over at him. Why did he always do that when Sherlock was so close? "Are you? A little bit?"

"I don't know," Sherlock mumbled. "It could be worse, I guess." He looked up. "Mrs Hudson looks like she's having fun at least. Do you think she's going to try to get that guy back to her flat?" He laughed a little, before taking another sip of his drink.

John couldn't help laughing. "Maybe," he said. "We'll make sure to close our door, so we don't hear anything."

Mrs Hudson moved over to them, and for a second Sherlock wondered if she was a mind reader, which seemed unlikely. Then again, the events of the last week or so and the reason for them were quite unlikely as well. He picked up his glass, but somehow it was empty. "Here, sit down," he said to Mrs Hudson. "I'll get us each another drink. What's yours?" He picked up John's glass as well.

"Just white wine, please, Sherlock," she said sitting down in his place. Sherlock moved over to the bottles, saying hello to Lestrade who was standing there as well.

"You and John having fun?" Greg asked.

"What do you mean, me and John?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. Was this some kind of conspiracy?

"Oi, relax," Lestrade said. "What's your problem?" His face was a bit red and completely clueless.

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "You know how I am with . . . people and groups of them."  
  
"Yeah, but that was before -- you've changed," Lestrade said, picking up the glass Sherlock had just poured for himself.

"How have I changed?" Sherlock asked, sighing as he reached for a clean glass. "Before what?"

"Before John came around and made you a bit more . . . you know, likeable," Lestrade said. He looked over at John and then at Sherlock. "Molly's had Christmas parties every year and this is the first one you've agreed to come to. Because of John. Admit it. Holmes and Watson. Watson and Holmes. Batman and Robin, Kirk and Spock . . ." Greg searched his mind for another pair before settling on "Mickey and Minnie Mouse." Then he laughed.

Over on the sofa, Mrs Hudson was grilling John. "So is it true all those gifts weren't from you, after all?" she asked, licking her lips a little as she waited for Sherlock to return with her wine.

John shook his head. "No, they weren't. Molly fessed up -- seems to think there's something more going on with me and Sherlock."

"I knew it!" Mrs Hudson said. "I knew it from the first day!"

"Knew what? There's nothing going on," John said.

"Of course, there is," she said. She looked at him more closely.  "Are you saying you're not in love with him?"

"I -- look, we're best friends," John sighed. "It's different than what you're all thinking," he said.

"Not for him, it isn't," Mrs Hudson said with a worried face. "Does Sherlock know?"  
  
"Does Sherlock know what?" Sherlock asked. He reached out his hand to give Mrs Hudson her wine and then set the two whiskey glasses on the table. "What are you talking about?" he asked, squeezing in on the sofa.

"Oh, nothing," Mrs Hudson said. "We were just talking about what John got you for Christmas. I'm sure you'll love it." She hurried to stand up and moved to find Molly or Greg or that nice young man she'd been talking to.

Sherlock didn't want to talk about Christmas gifts. He was tired of Christmas and gifts and not knowing what was going on. He sat back and took too big of a drink, coughing a little. "I need a cigarette," he said. "Can we go soon?"

John looked over at Sherlock. What did Mrs Hudson mean? Sherlock wasn't interested in love like that. Why would he be upset that John loved him as a friend? "Yeah, after this drink we can go."

Sherlock took another drink. "I hope you didn't spend a lot of money on my gift, John," he said. "I mean, I hope you spent a fair bit, now that I know all those other gifts weren't from you, but I hope you didn't go mad."

"I didn't go crazy. I just saw it and thought of you," he smiled. "I think you'll like it."

"Well, I'm sure I'll like it -- you know me better than anyone else in the world, really," Sherlock said, realising as he spoke that it was entirely true. John knew his strengths, his weaknesses, his habits and his needs. "I hope my gift for you came today. I'm afraid I put my order in a bit too late." He hated lying, but he didn't know what else to do. He lifted his glass to his mouth so he didn't have to say anymore.

John touched his hand softly. "I'm sure it's going to be great, Sherlock. Whenever it comes, whatever it is." He drained his glass. "Ready to go?"

Sherlock moved his fingers to hold John's hand for a moment. He looked over towards him and suddenly he couldn't stop thinking about how handsome he was. He finished his whiskey. "Most definitely," he said and stood up quickly, feeling a little dizzy but mainly pleased that they were heading home.

John stood and put his glass in the sink. He made his rounds to say goodbye, making Molly's and Mrs Hudson's quick because of the looks they were giving him. He led the way out, looking over at Sherlock. "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

"I guess not," Sherlock said, pulling his coat around him. "It's gone freezing again." He looked up into the sky. "It'd better not snow, John. If it does, I'm going to blame you." He moved to the kerb to try to catch a taxi.

"I would like a bit of snow on Christmas," he said.

"Of course you would," Sherlock said. "You just have to make everything so perfect all the time, don't you?"

"Don't shout at me," John said. He climbed into the cab and gave their address.

"I'm not shouting, am I?" Sherlock said. He hadn't meant to, but maybe the alcohol was making him less self-aware. "I'm just saying you always make everything perfect," he whispered. The air in the taxi felt stale and hot after the cold air outdoors.

John licked his lips lightly. He looked at Sherlock and patted his shoulder. "Um . . .so . . . that was crazy with Molly, huh?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I suppose it was."

"I mean . . . it was crazy," John said again, looking out of his window awkwardly. Was Sherlock going to disagree?

"Yeah, you said that," Sherlock said. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. "So what, it's ruined your Christmas or something?"

"No! No, I was just saying," John said a bit deflated. He fiddled with his fingers.

"You're my best friend, John," Sherlock said softly. "My Christmas hasn't been ruined."

"Mine either, Sherlock. You're my best friend too," he said.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. He'd meant what he'd said. John made everything perfect and there was nothing Sherlock wanted more than to spend Christmas with his best friend whom he loved. He opened his eyes at that thought, just as the taxi turned a corner. And then he saw it -- the perfect present for John. "Stop the taxi -- pull over," he said sharply. When the driver did, he said, "Wait just a moment" and then he was out the door, running around the corner. He quickly made his purchase, sticking the bag into his coat pocket, and moving quickly back to the cab. "Sorry," he said as he shut the door. "Drive on."

"What was that? Are you okay?" John asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, panting lightly. "I just thought I saw some money on the pavement." He looked over at John and smiled. When the taxi pulled up outside of Baker Street, he paid the driver and led John upstairs.

John took his coat off and went to drink some water. "Do you want your gift now or in the morning?"

"What? I thought Santa brought presents while we're sleeping," Sherlock said. "Have I been misled? Don't spoil my innocence, John." He moved to the kitchen to click the kettle on, yawning a bit as he waited.

"Okay, relax." John chugged his water. "I'm going to bed, I think."

"Okay," Sherlock mumbled as he poured the tea. Then he turned and looked at John. "Do you want me to change in some way?" he asked.

"What? Of course I don't. Why do you think that?" he asked.

"I'm just saying . . . perhaps it's me that's made Molly confused about our relationship. I know I'm not good at these things but I just --" He stopped and took a sip of tea. "Well, if you say you're happy as we are, then let's not fret about it anymore, okay?"

"But . . . aren't you happy with how we are, too?"

"Sure," Sherlock said. "Yeah, everything's good." He turned to move towards his room. "Night then," he called. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," John said. He finished his water and went up to bed slowly. Molly had really thrown the night off. He got ready for bed and lay down with a sigh. Maybe Molly was right. But it wouldn't matter if only one of them felt it.


	6. On The Twelfth Day

Once Sherlock was in bed, he lay there, staring up through the blackness of the dark room. Everything didn't feel good anymore. Molly had been right. Sherlock did love John. He loved him so much that he could barely tolerate how intense the feeling was. He was so annoyed at how stupid he'd been. It was so obvious -- Molly said everyone knew and now, of course, Sherlock knew too. But John said they were just good friends. John said he was happy as they were. Sherlock did not feel very happy at the moment.

John couldn't sleep. What if Sherlock felt it too? But what if he didn't? He squeezed his eyes hard with his hands. They shouldn't have gone to that party -- how were they going to live together now?

Sherlock lay there for a bit longer, trying to think logically. He knew love wasn't always logical, but he had to try. From the very first day they'd met, something was different about John and Sherlock's relationship. Even when it was new he'd felt surprisingly comfortable with John, and that feeling only grew and grew. He wanted to spend all of his time with John, sometimes just seeing John made Sherlock feel good. Those things were all love, he was sure of it. He felt around for his phone. 

_You still awake? SH_

John jumped lightly and groped around for his phone.

_Yeah, I am. -JW_

_Can I come up to your room for a moment, please? SH_

John shifted and sat up.

_Okay. -JW_

Sherlock stood up from his bed and took a deep breath. He was going to do this. He slipped his dressing gown on and stopped at the kitchen to get two glasses of water. He headed up to John's room, tapping on the door with his knee, and then pushing it open. "I brought you some water," he said, setting the glasses down and then sitting himself on the edge of the bed. "It's after midnight now so . . . Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," John murmured, looking at him through the dark. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I guess I was just thinking . . . it's not so mad, is it?"

John flushed lightly, grateful for the dark. "What's not so mad?" he asked softly, even though he knew exactly what Sherlock was referring to.

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly. "Us," he said and then even more quietly, "what Molly said."

"People always say that sort of thing," John said. "Do you --" He didn't know what to ask. Did Sherlock really believe there was more to their friendship?

"Don't you think there's a reason people always say it?"

John shrugged in the dark. "I -- is there a reason, Sherlock?"

"I don't think it's mad, John," Sherlock said. "I don't think it's mad at all. I know what I feel for you is . . . different."

"Do you mean that?" John asked, fiddling with the covers. "Or is it just because Molly said it?"

"I don't say things I don't mean, John," Sherlock said. "I guess I . . . just wanted to tell you. That's all, I guess."

"Well . . . me too," John said softly.

"Just because Molly said it?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. But then he remembered it was dark. "No, not because of that."

"Do you love me, then? Is that what you're saying, John?" Sherlock asked. "Because I do love you."

"Of course I love you," John said.

"Good," Sherlock said. He sat in the quiet for a few moments. He did indeed love John Watson and now he knew John loved him back. It was the best Christmas present he could have received. And then he remembered the bag in his coat pocket. "Let's exchange gifts," he said. "I'll go get yours." He stood up and rushed down, returning quickly.

It took a moment for John's brain to catch up. He leaned over and turned on the lamp and then got the box he had for Sherlock before crawling back into bed. He pushed the box towards Sherlock.

"Should I open it now?" Sherlock asked, leaning closer a little to inspect it.

"Yeah," John said. "It's not much . . . especially after all the other ones you've received," he mumbled.

Sherlock pulled off the wrapping and opened the box. It was a magnifying glass. He held it up to inspect it and saw that it was monogrammed. "It's lovely, John, thank you," he said. He felt his face redden a bit -- John's gift was so nice that he was worried his would seem stupid. But it was too late now. "I, um, wasn't quite truthful earlier -- I hadn't ordered you anything. I looked all over, but I couldn't find the right thing," he explained. "Until the drive home from Molly's. So um, it's not wrapped or anything, but here it is." He handed John the bag.

John smiled softly and took the bag. He opened it and pulled out a plant. When he looked at it more closely, he bit his lip to stifle a grin. "Is this . . . mistletoe?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, his face warm with embarrassment and maybe just a little anticipation. "You're supposed to . . . you know."

"Yeah," John said. "Um, you should come closer."

Sherlock scooted a bit closer towards John. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

John set the mistletoe down gently and turned to Sherlock. "I love you," he said, leaning in and kissing his mouth softly.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, a little too much maybe, but the minute their lips touched, he knew this had been exactly what he wanted. He lifted a hand to the back of John's head, tipping it slightly, as the kiss became deeper. John moaned softly, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's curls. Sherlock pushed himself against John, leaning him down onto the bed. He shifted himself so he was properly on top of him and let his mouth trail to his ear and then down to his neck as his hands still gripped his head.

"Sherlock," John moaned softly. "God . . . " He gripped Sherlock's hips and pressed up against him.

Sherlock began to rock his body against John's. He was filled with a sense of relief and comfort mixed with tension and urgency. He let a hand moved down to John's hip, squeezing it as he pulled John's body towards him. John moved to find his mouth to find Sherlock's again, humming as they kissed a bit sloppily. Soon Sherlock leaned up from the kiss and slipped out of his dressing gown. He pulled his t-shirt over his head as he scrambled to get John's shirt off of him.

"God, I can't stop kissing you," John huffed, shifting out of his shirt.

"We were so stupid," Sherlock mumbled as he moved back to kiss. Their warm chests against each other made a heat rise in him as his hips began to move again.

John nodded. "We were . . . so much," he murmured.

Sherlock slid to the side of John and reached for his hand, leading it down, pressing it against the front of his pajama bottoms. "I want you, John," he whispered. "Because I do love you."  
  
John curled his fingers around Sherlock's hard cock, feeling the form through the material. "I love you, too. And I want you so much."

Sherlock wiggled out of his pajamas and pulled on John's as well, so they were both naked. He tangled their legs and then began to stroke John properly, kissing his mouth hard as he did. 

John groaned into the kiss, wishing he could see Sherlock's hand on him. It felt amazing.

"I want to keep going," Sherlock said softly as he moved his mouth to John's neck. "Do you have any condoms?"

John nodded. "In the top drawer on that side," he said, stretching a bit. Sherlock leaned up a little while he was waiting, his hand still moving slowly on John's cock. John stretched even more and pulled out the box and the lube, sliding them closer before leaning up to kiss him again.

"Have you ever done this before . . . I mean, like this, with a man?" Sherlock asked softly, as he shifted his body to move between John's legs.

John licked his lips. "Do you really want to talk about that right now?" he asked.

"I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all," Sherlock said. "I won't hurt you . . ." He poured some lube into his hand and move his hand over John's cock and between his legs.

"I trust you," John smiled softly, leaning up for another kiss.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss as his fingers brushed against John's hole, before slowly pushing one inside. "God, John," he moaned softly. He began to pulse his fingers as his hips rocked in the same rhythm. He sucked hard on John's neck, pulling the skin into his mouth to memorise the taste of him.

"God, I want you so badly," John moaned, moving with Sherlock, seeking his mouth again.

Sherlock pushed himself up off of John and pulled John's hand down to his cock. "Touch yourself," he said softly as he reached for a condom. He slid it on and then covered everything with lube again before lining himself up. He pushed slowly inside as he leaned over John again. "Slow," he mumbled stupidly as the feeling of intense pleasure and connection filled him.

"Slow," John sighed in agreement. He gazed up at Sherlock, touching his face and curls with his free hand.

Their bodies began moving in the same rhythm -- just like their lives had from that first moment they met. Sherlock looked down and kissed John tenderly, even though the tension was quickly filling his entire body. John kissed him back, moving his body with Sherlock, feeling him deeper. He moaned Sherlock's name, the heat building quickly.

Now the kissed turned more urgent, Sherlock crashing into it as his body crashed against John's. "I'm going to come," he exhaled, closing his eyes and letting his body go.

John held Sherlock's hip, pulling him closer and harder, moaning into the kiss. "Yes . . . me too . . ." 

"Fuck," Sherlock called out loudly as he came, pushing deep into John. His eyes squeezed shut and he froze for a moment before coming back into the moment.

John gazed up at him with a breathless sigh, stroking himself even faster. He kissed Sherlock as he came, moaning his name over and over.

Sherlock squeezed his arm around John's back, pulling them close together. "God, John," he mumbled over and over as they tried to catch their breath.

"I know.. ." John whispered. He nuzzled into Sherlock's temple and hair. "I love you."

"I love you back," Sherlock exhaled, slowly lifting his body. He moved away, getting rid of the condom and then curling around John. He reached over and fiddled a bit with his hair. "You okay?"

John nodded. "I'm okay. That was amazing," he murmured. He turned his head to face Sherlock, smiling softly. "Are you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said and he meant it. In some ways this would be a big change to their relationship, but in many other ways, love had already existed in this flat long ago. "Can I stay the night with you in here?" he asked softly. 

"Of course," he said. "You're my boyfriend now."

"I was your boyfriend yesterday," Sherlock said. "We just didn't know it yet, I guess." He snuggled down a bit.

John smiled softly as he got more comfortable. "Do you think they'll be smug?"

"They definitely will," Sherlock smiled. "I think we should at least let Molly get away with it, though. I suppose we owe her."

"I can't believe we were so blind," John said.

"Well, it's worked out all right now," Sherlock said, yawing a little. He stroked John's face softly. "Let's go to sleep now and when we wake up, it'll be Christmas, okay?"

"Okay. I liked your gift," John whispered as his eyes closed. He liked Sherlock's soft touching too.

"I liked what it led to," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and started to drift to sleep, his fingers still touching John lightly.

John dozed off, still mumbling nonsense about Christmas and presents and Santa, curled close to Sherlock.


End file.
